


‘Bread, Cheese, Mice and Pigeons’

by GreyGhost



Series: The Dragon's Heart [2]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-31
Updated: 2013-03-31
Packaged: 2017-12-07 03:04:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/743454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyGhost/pseuds/GreyGhost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Food, lessons, teamwork and stories lead to confrontation, bravery, and an exercise in trust.  (March 1881) (12) <br/>Part Two of "The Dragon's Heart" series</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bread, Cheese, Mice and Pigeons

**Author's Note:**

> This story begins the day after "Blood on Her Hands."

**Tuesday, March 8, 1881**

It must be morning again, 'cause the stupid pigeons won't shut up!

I stretch, just a little, 'cause I'm sharing a narrow but soft bed with a tall woman who looks like a bit like a lizard.

An often moody woman by the name of Vastra, who says she's from Dawnoftime. Where ever that is. Scotland maybe? She has a lovely little burr in her voice. Miss Vastra, I guess, as I haven't seen any husband around since I've been here. 

I'm warm and I'm dry, which in early March in London, in the year of our Lord 1881, is nothing to be sneezed at. Least not by me, as I've not had the best time of it lately. 

My name's Jenny. I'm a Match Girl, and as poor as a church mouse. I use to work part of the day making matches, for 3 shillings a week, and go to school the rest of the day. That was fine when Ma was alive. Ma looked after my brother and sister, and Da and I worked. We never had much money, and we lived in a one room flat; me and the little ones all in the same pile of blankets on the floor, and Ma and Da in their bed. Poor but together. Until it all changed.

My brother and sister got sick last spring and we lost 'em. Ma died in the fall, miscarrying my baby brother, and my Da... didn't take it well. Losing Ma ...hurt us both.

Lord, I miss her.

Da started to drink more and more, and when he was drunk, he'd get angry and wanted to hit something. 

He decided that would be me.

That lasted a few weeks, while I hoped he'd stop drinking and get better. But he didn't and one night, I got tired of it, and I hit him back. Hard. I'm small, but I'm stronger than I look. Da didn't like it.

He sold me to the Black Scorpions on New Year's Day for three bottles of Gin. I couldn't stay at my old job; the next day I went to work, two Scorpions showed up. The foreman held them up while some older girls got me out of there. I ran away with a week's wages in my pocket, and with the help of some friends, sold matches from my factory for a few weeks, to keep body and soul together. 

Then the Scorpions found me.  
They thought I'd make a good whore.  
I thought I'd rather die fighting the bastards.  
Miss Vastra thought she'd lend me a hand.  
Guess who won?

'Course she and I, we were both hurt pretty bad.  
But the Scorpions got it worse!

I've stayed with Miss Vastra the last couple of days, healing and sleeping. Sunday I didn't move much; her room is pretty small. A bit smaller the flat than my family lived in, though she has it all to herself. I’ve just made the occasional trip down the hall to the Necessary. And isn't that a treat, even though it's just a tall privy with a straight drop down. But no climbing up and down the stairs! 

Yesterday I was chipper enough to do the laundry. I was going to leave when I was done, even though I'm scared of what's out there. It isn't right to mooch a place to sleep from Miss Vastra. But she asked me to stay. At least until she can have a look and see if she can help me with the Scorpions. I think she's a bit lonely, though I can tell she really doesn't like people very much. It's a very kind offer, so I need to behave meself and not make her regret it. 

And she said she'll even teach me about swords and such. Least until she gets bored. Doubt she'll want to teach me for more than a few days. We agreed that each of us could end the lessons at any time. But I won't be the first to give up!

My stomach grumbles. Haven't felt like food the last few days, but I'm hungry this morning.  
Must be getting better. Miss Vastra hasn't eaten the past few days either. Bet she's hungry too.

I glance around, as she's not on the bed, where we've both been sleeping. Instead, she's sitting at the room's tiny table, watching me with an interesting expression on her face. 

Her face is very different from anyone I know, so I can't quite make it out. But she looks... pleased?

What's she been up to?

As I sit up, she gestures at the table. "I've found some food for us." Sitting on the table on a plate are two freshly dead mice. Yes, she looks very pleased with herself.

I can't help it. I start to laugh. Miss Vastra doesn't look to happy with that. I hold up a hand, "Wait a moment, I'm not laughing at you, I'm laughing at a memory." Now she looks curious. She does these little head tilts that help tell me what she's thinking. It's very sweet. I won't tell her that though. She has her own sort of... grace, I guess is the word. Wish I knew more words.

I collect meself, smile at her and tell her the story:

"When I was little..." And now she looks doubtful, and I can almost hear her thoughts, “Don't look at me like that, I'm not talking about last week..."

"When I was little, there was a moggy that lived in the streets near us. She was a great hunter, always bringing home mice and birds for her kittens. Sometimes, if I was patient and waited, she'd take a bit of food from me hand and let me pat her. But only if I was alone. Expect she felt safer that way."

"A few years ago, we had a bad winter. I remember being really hungry and sniffling about it a bit. My brother and sister, they were hungry too. They weren't use to it, you see, so they cried more than me." 

"One morning, when we opened our door, there sat the moggy, with a big fat mouse between her paws, looking as pleased as any cat ever did. Da was disgusted that she'd brought us a dead mouse, but Ma knew better. Ma said the moggy was trying to help feed us little ones, like she fed her kittens. Not sure what Ma did, but the mouse disappeared, and the moggy seemed content with that. We had a small chicken for dinner that night, the first in a long while. Ma gave the Moggy some. Don't know how we could afford it though. Maybe Ma sold something." I smile at the memory. "Ma said that sometimes even animals can be a little bit kind."

Miss Vastra looks at me; I can tell she's surprised. "Did you just compare me to a mother cat?"

"Cats catch mice. There's two mice on the table, ma'am, and I'm not the one who put them there." I try not to smile at her, but it doesn’t work. After a moment, I can’t help a little grin.

Her face is still hard to read, but I think I hear a little smile in her voice, "It's a fair enough comparison then."

"And I thank you for gift of food, ma'am. Let's see if I have anything to add to breakfast."

I turn out my skirt pockets, emptying them onto the table. A match box wrapped in a bit of waxed paper to keep it dry. Two farthings and a handkerchief. That and my coat, on the hook on the door, are everything I have in the world save the clothes on my back. Such as they are.

Oh, and a surprise tucked in my waistband, thanks to a dead Black Scorpion.

I get up and check my coat pockets, and find a packet of food I'd saved. I carry the packet, wrapped in an old bit of paper, to the table and unwrap it. 

"It's just a bit o' bread and cheese, ma'am. Almost forgot I had it." I break the little thing in half. Fair is fair, she needs food too. She can't live on just gin and mice. 

She seems nice, if a bit short tempered. Hope she doesn't hit me as hard as Da did if she gets angry.

I take the table knife, and push half the cheese and bread to her, and draw one of the mice towards me. We both sit there a moment, and look at the food before us. 

Miss Vastra eyes the cheese and biscuit, and tries to look happy.  
Maybe she doesn't eat things like this.  
Wonder if she feels about bread and cheese like I feel about eating a dead mouse.  
Hmmm.

"Tell you what, ma'am. Would you be interested in a trade?"  
She cocks her head, and the tip of her tongue flicks out for a moment."What do you propose?"  
"Trade you a mouse for some biscuit and cheese."  
"Done." Oh, she sounds much happier.

She gulps down the mice, while I carefully don't watch, and I wolf down half the cheese and bread, and wrap up the other half.

"You're not going to eat that?" she asks.

"Later ma'am. I need to earn money to buy more food. Who knows how long that may take."

"Humans need to eat quite a bit, don't they?"

"Every day is best, ma'am. But I've gone without for days at a time. It's not pleasant, but it can be done without much harm. Lot's of folks in the city don't eat as often as they should." I stowed the tiny packet in me coat. "What about you? How often do you need to eat?"

"It depends. A good meal every two or three days when it's warm. When it's cooler, I eat less frequently, and usually smaller amounts. I prefer meat, as fresh if I can get it."

"Huh. Usually the other way around for me. Ma would feed us more in the winter to help ward off the cold, and less in the summer. Meat's nice but pricey. Ate lots of vegetables in the summer and fall. We ate bread, porridge, and soup a lot too. You can make good soup from bones, and stretch it out, you see."

I take the plate and the table knife, give them a quick wash, and put them back in the cupboard.

While I do that, Miss Vastra reaches under the bed, and brings out a wrapped bundle, about a yard long. She unwraps her sword. I don't see any blood on it, looks like she cleaned it yesterday while I was doing the laundry.

"Are you ready for your first lesson?"

"Yes, ma'am!" 

She waves me over to sit on the edge of the bed, pushes the table so that I can reach it, and takes the chair on the other side. She always keeps one hand on her sword, probably so I can't grab it like a little boy would. Makes sense, I guess.

She looks at me for a long moment, then nods her head and begins.

"Before we start, bring out the knife that you took the other day from the Black Scorpion Ape."

I freeze. She's not mentioned it before, I thought she's forgotten about it. For a moment I want to say I don't have it, but that would make a poor start, as Ma would say. Miss Vastra might even decide to end the lessons right now. 

She lets me have the moment to think, but cocks her head, not breaking eye contact with me. Bet she knows I have it 'cause I froze. Ma always caught me like that. I need to stop doing that.

The knife's tucked into the waistband of my skirt, under my blouse in the curve of my back. It's a big thing, heavy, with a wide blade and a wicked curved point. I don't have a proper cover for it; guess I'll need to make one. I bring it out and lay it on the table, keeping one hand on it, like she's doing with her sword. She studies it with just her eyes, nodding a little to herself.

I feel really bad all of a sudden: "That's why you didn't really want to lie down for me to look at yer cuts the other day. You knew I had this and were worried I'd hurt you!" 

"I had frightened you quite a bit when I threatened to cut your shirt off. I could see you were wary of me, when you sat on the floor by the door. But the error was mine, and I needed to let you regain some control and a little bit of trust. So it took me only a few moments to decide to trust you."

"Like it took a moment for me to trust you just now."

"Correct." She leans back and studies me again. "Jenny, these are not toys. You saw me kill an Ape with this sword. I suspect that knife was also used to kill or wound before you took it. I can teach you, but this is not a game played by hatchlings. You and I can both be hurt if we are careless. With training, you will be able to injure other Apes, perhaps mortally. Do you understand this?"

I had to grow up fast when I ran away. Had no choice. Now Miss Vastra is asking me to grow up some more. Can I do that? But I'm tired of feeling scared when I'm on the streets. 

"Yes, ma'am," I reply after a few moments, "I understand. I can do this."

"Then let us begin. I'm going to set three rules first. There will be others, but you need to remember these three above all. "

"First rule: Stay focused. Do not let your mind wander, either during training or any other time you have a weapon in your hand. If your attention wanders, you can be injured or killed."

"Second: if either of us calls "Stop" during training we will both freeze. This is because there might be something dangerous occurring. One of us may be too close a wall, or something maybe broken. There will be times where we use those circumstances to our advantage in training, but that time is not now."

The third rule is this: neither of us touches the other's weapons unless given permission. To be clear, this applies as much to your knife and any other weapons you may acquire as it does to my sword. This is for safety, and it is about respecting one another." 

She's saying she'll treat me like I'm an adult! She wouldn't say that if she thought of me as a child, to be just told to do things. Blimey, that was fast! Now I need to live up to it, or she'll stop the lessons for sure!

***

We spend a grand hour working with the blades. Miss Vastra explains that since both of us are still recovering, and the room is very small, we'll spend the first several lessons on safety, and grip, and parts of our weapons; things like that. Maybe do some training to help me get me stronger too.

She teaches me new words, some in the language of her people, when she's not sure of a term in English. Blade and hilt and scabbard are easy, I've heard them before. Others like the metal band on the back of me knife, she doesn't know in English, and they are old words for her people. They don't make their weapons in the same ways as we do, she says.

As we're finishing the lesson, she examines her sword more closely. "I found this near the river last fall. Most Apes don't carry swords, they seem to prefer heavy sticks and knives. I wonder what kind of blade this is?" 

"Looks familiar ma'am. Give me a moment, I haven't seen that many swords. Not a common sight in London these days."

"Really? You believe you recognize this?" She looks up, surprised. Didn't think I would, did she? But this is a dream come true for me. 

I grew up playing Robin Hood with the boys. Tom the cutler's son from next door was Robin our fearless leader with a small bow his dad made him. Tucker, the baker's boy, was Friar Tuck, though he was fair skinny. My brother Johnny was 'Little John'. We pretended he was huge, though he was smaller and younger than me. I made him a staff like the real Little John's. He loved it and always had it with him. My tiny sister Ann was Maid Marian, everyone always wanted to save her. 

Me... I was Will Scarlet. Not the hero, not the lady, just the foolish fop who was good with a sword. Still, I got to play with the rest, carrying any piece of stick I could get my hands on, and that was fine with me. Grew up looking for anyone with a weapon, and learned a lot just by watching. That, and roughhousing with my Da and Johnny, helped save my life the other night. That, and a real hero who came to me rescue. 

A real hero, armed with a sword, and a woman to boot! Robin Hood himself could not have been better!

I'm right though, swords aren't common now, but I've seen some. The guards at the Tower? No, they have big spears. Officer sword like the troops on parade carry? Not fancy enough. She found it near the river.... wait, got it!

"It's a Cutlass, ma'am! The sailors still use them. My Da works at the Docks. We went and saw a Navy Steamship there last year, and saw sailors doing cutlass drill on the deck! It was a great fun!" I smile at the memory, then frown. That was the last good outing my family ever had. Three weeks later, John and Ann got sick and they died.

I glance up at her, embarrassed like. She don't know them, she don't care.

"Sorry ma'am. Wandered off there for a moment." But she surprises me, again.

"You miss your family. I understand. I still miss mine, though it has been many years since they were murdered."

"What happened to them?"

She shakes her head. "I do not wish to discuss it. It still angers me even to think about it. And they would accuse me of betraying them if they saw me now."

"Now?"

"Teaching an Ape the arts of war." 

Not much I can say that won't make a poor situation worse, so for once I keep quiet, and keep my head down.  
So much for a dream come true.

And then I get cross. I feel sorry that she lost her family, but I can't fix that for her. I can't even fix my own family. 

"Make you another deal, Ma’am."

"What is it this time?"

"On the day I figure out how to bring Ma and the little ones back, I'll bring back yer sisters as well."

She slams her sword down on the table, rising to her feet and towering over me. Her temper is red hot, and her free hand swings back to strike. "Enough! These lessons are o...." 

.. and then she stops. And eyes me. I've turned my hand over, so that it's palm up on my knife, and I can’t grab it. I can't stop her; if I hit back she can kill me without a second's thought, and she’s been too kind to me to knife her for a blow. I can only stare back at her. I can't win, but I'm not going to back down. I let Da get away with taking things out on me, I'm not going to let her do it. It won't be good for either of us.

If she hits me, I'm out the door. If I live.

Lucky for me, she's not Da.

"Cheeky little monkey." She seems to shrink, as she shakes her head, and lowers her hand. 

I'm not sure what to do. So quiet like I put my knife away, take the cloth that her sword was wrapped in off the bed, and slide it across the table to her.

She wraps her sword up. When she's done I move the table back into place while she puts the bundle back under the bed. 

For now, we have a truce. Again.

***

I fetch water from the bucket, and the sliver of soap, and start cleaning up the window. There's ever so much coal dust caked on it, and it's pitted and rippled as well. Even when it's clean it won't be easy to see through. Cheap glass, but better than I've ever lived with. Rent for the flat is probably more than I ever made in a week. 

Mind you, at 4 shillings per, the price of a bottle of Gin is more than I ever made in a week.

As I work, I glance out the window, at the birds perched on the buildings nearby. I can hear them cooing above me as well. I can't help it, I imagine them as little chickens roasted on a plate, and my guts growls in hunger. 

"What was that noise?'

"Ah, just me ma'am. Guess I'm still a bit hungry. I was wondering if pigeons taste like chicken."

Miss Vastra looked over my shoulder at the birds, nodding a little. "They do seem to be an abundant source of meat, but they avoid this windowsill." 

"Maybe they want more sun, so they don't sit here. Might come if we put out some food for them."

"And what kind of food do they eat?" She asked, sounding curious.

"Seeds, maybe some bread... Wait a moment." I fetch my little packet of bread and cheese, unwrap it, and cut it in two again.

"I must teach you to slice properly, instead of just using brute force to chop. A knife is not an ax!" Wonderful, she sounds like my school master. Ah, well, at least the subject is interesting.

I wrapped up half the bread and the extra cheese, and start hunting around for some string. "Need a snare or something to catch them."

Miss Vastra moves by me to the window and says, "Leave that to me." 

The bread is pretty dry, so it's easy for me to grind it up in my hand, and sprinkle it on the windowsill. "Now we wait, and see if they'll notice. Might take a while, pigeons aren't very clever."

***

It takes about half an hour, and a shift of the sun, before the pigeons notice the bread. I continue cleaning the room, while Miss Vastra waits patiently by the window. 

It's interesting to watch her when I can. She's very focused, and still. 

I hear cooing, and look up just in time to see a pair of pigeons pecking at the crumbs, and then Miss Vastra seems to... spit at them, and a moment later she has a struggling pigeon in each hand, and the end of her tongue is hanging out of her mouth. 

About a foot of it, that is.

I can't help it, I stand there shocked, and just staring at her mouth. 

"Water, please" she asks, awkward like.

I hand her a cupful, still staring, and she rinses off her tongue. "I'm afraid that feathers are NOT particularly tasty," she says. 

"What do you call that, then?" I ask, stunned.

Miss Vastra smirked at me. "I believe you described it as "Killing two birds with one stone".

"I mean yer... tongue?"

"I call it my tongue." 

Not much I can do but give her a look for that one.

I take the birds from her, one at a time. A quick twist of their necks and the job is done. It's not right to let them suffer, even if their cooing before dawn is annoying as all blazes. Moments later, the birds are laid out on the table.

"Need to drain the blood first, then pluck and gut them." I look around for the bowl, but Miss Vastra hands me the cup instead. I look up at her. "Ma’am, you'll want to drink from that cup, won't you?"

She nods her head.

"Don't you want to keep it clean? Not get blood in it?"

I think the expression on her face might be a puzzled look. I pause, and think a moment about the mice that she gulped down whole, then slowly ask, "Ma’am, do you drink blood?"

Another nod.

"Ah..." Another pause while I wrap my head around that idea. I decide not to remember how much blood I had on me t'other night. Well, not much help for it, and I still alive. 

"Well, waste not, want not I guess."

Oh, that's definitely a smile, that is.

Ma taught me how to prepare live chicken's for cooking, the meat was fresher, and the birds cheaper if we butchered them ourselves. I drain them, pluck them and clean them, making sure to check for spots on the liver and on the meat. These ones are clean, and that's good.

Miss Vastra takes a seat, sips on her cup of blood, and watches me prepare the birds. 

When I'm done, she's already eyeing everything with interest. I put the crop and entrails aside, ready for the slops, and the bones and organs separate, to make soup. She glances at them, but doesn't touch them. 

"Do you have a frying pan, or a pot, ma'am?"

"Why?" She looks puzzled.

"Ah, need to cook the meat, ma'am."

"Why?"

Oh, not again. I glance at the bloody cup, and at the raw birds, and then at her. She has a little red mustache, at least until she licks her lips, and it's gone. It's a very strange moment for me.

"Let me guess; do you eat yer meat raw usually, ma'am?"

And there's that nod again. I just sigh. I'm not even surprised anymore.

"I think you have a stronger stomach than I do. Need to cook mine, I'm afraid."

"Well, the heat will kill any lingering germs, so it's not a bad idea. Try the cupboard, there were a few pots and pans here when I moved in."

It only takes a minute for me to find a dusty frying pan. I give it a quick wipe, apply a bit of fat from the bird's skin, add in the meat and it's ready to put on the little iron spider in the fireplace. I hand her the second pigeon, and let her get on with making it disappear, as I bend to cooking mine.

It takes a few minutes for the bird to cook, but not too long. I want to make sure it's properly done.

"I'll need to fetch some more coals when I'm done. Should get some more water, too." 

I glance up at her, she's finished already, and is leaning back in the chair, looking pleased.

"Excellent idea, Jenny. That was very tasty. Thank you."

"Yer welcome, ma'am."

"Have you forgotten my name again?" she asks, with a slight smile.

"No, Miss Vastra."

"But you almost never use it?"

"Yer an adult ma’am. It's not polite for me to use yer given name without a title. And saying 'Miss Vastra' all the time's a bit odd when there's only the two of us here." 

"Hmmm." She smiles a little at me, her head slightly cocked to the side. "But it's fine if I call you Jenny?"

"Why yes ma'am! What else would you call me? Other than 'Monkey' or 'Ape?' Which you seem to like to do anyway. T'be honest., I'd rather be called Jenny."

My meal is ready to eat. I just hold the pan, and use the cooking fork to eat with. Ma would have had fits if she caught me doing this, but Miss Vastra doesn't mind, and I'll save washing the plate again.

She's still watching me, and still has that little smile. "You don't seem very upset to find out I eat raw meat, or drink blood occasionally," she says.

"Miss Vastra, if it will keep you from drinking gin, I'll happily cut my own palm and let you lap it from my hand."

She blinks, startled. "Ah, no. That won't be necessary. For one thing, you'd risk far too much damage to your hand to hold a blade properly."

"And t'other thing?"

She swings her head towards me, locks eyes with me a moment, and then nods towards the remains of the pigeons. "I don't believe it would be wise for me to develop a taste for your blood."

"Ahh. Right, then!" Blimey, what have I got meself into? Jenny, my girl, you almost walked into a bad situation there. Think a bit before you spout off. 

'Though Ma would say it's far too late for that. She was always after me for being cheeky. Lucky for me Miss Vastra has some sense!

"Think I'd best go fetch the coal and water." 

Miss Vastra nods, regal like, and tells me where to find the coal, and how much she's allowed to take. Seems too little to keep this room warm in the winter. Wonder if she can buy extra if she needed it? Must ask, I think she might not know she can do that.

She seems to have some funny gaps in what she knows and doesn't know. Almost as if she doesn't know that she doesn't know things. Wonder if I can teach her the things she doesn't know about? That would be a good trade for the sword lessons.

It takes a while for me to get back up with the water and coal, 'cause both are pretty heavy. But it's good exercise, and I'm use to it from hauling coal and water at home. One pump outside for the whole building there too. But going up four levels is new for me. Bet it makes me stronger, though!

When I get back, Miss Vastra's looking through her little stack of worn books. "I've read all these a dozen times before. I could recite the stories by now."

"What kind of books do you like?" Hope she doesn't say 'Improving Works', or some such boring rot like that. Our schoolmaster had a dozen of those; made my eyes ache. I could never read more than a page a day. 

"These are 'Agnes Grey,' 'Paul Clifford' and 'The Moonstone.' They are interesting, but there are often references in them that I don't understand."

Sounds like what I was thinking before: there's things she doesn't know. And stories she doesn't know too, I bet. She seems to like stories about people, maybe I can amuse us both:

"Have you ever heard of Robin Hood?"

"Who?"

"He was a great hero, ma'am. Always fighting villains with bow and sword, and saving common people from their evil rulers. From England, he was, up in Nottingham. He lived a long time ago..."

And I'm off, telling her one of the stories that I love. She asks a few questions, about knights and sheriffs and monks which I answer as I can. But I can tell she likes the story. Da loved to tell these tales, and they're too good a memory for me to give up.

***  
When I’m done, we’re both quiet for a bit. Then Miss Vastra stirs, and looks at me with that little tilt of her head, and says, “I’ve given some thought to your situation. Both your immediate future, and for the next few weeks.”

“Yes, ma’am?’

“I think that our first priority is to get you some proper food. The pigeons were a good start, but you mentioned vegetables and bread. You eat differently than I do, but Apes, I mean humans, seem to do well with a variety of foods. And I believe at least one change of clothes would be wise.”

“Pity I can't go back home, even if only for a few minutes. Had to leave two sets of clothes there. And a few other things.” 

“Such as?”

“My mug, a copybook and school slate, couple of handkerchiefs I'd made. Nothing fancy, and really, how useful would that lot be on the streets?”

“Yet they were yours, and you should have them back. You said your father worked at the docks?”

“Yes, ma'am”

“So your former residence is now unguarded during the day?”

“Pardon? Oh! I get yer meaning! Yes, That's right.”

“Then I think we should pay a visit to your father's room, and recover such items as may be useful to you. And if either your father or the scorpions interfere, I will be very happy to... deal with them.”

I'm not the brightest lamp in the house, but maybe telling the story of a romantic outlaw to a world-weary woman with a sword was not the best idea I've had recently.

Just what I need: A jaded lizard lady who is up for a lark.


	2. The Beer Lane Raid

**Wednesday, March 9, 1881**

On Wednesday, the weather is clear but cool. The pigeons start cooing at dawn. Thanks to bread crumbs and Miss Vastra, two of them join us for breakfast. Afterwards we do another hour of blade class, working on my grip; and practicing slicing, with bits that will make pigeon soup. After that, Miss Vastra’s decides that we’ll raid my flat in this morning, while everyone’s gone to work or bustling around doing their errands. She has her cloak, her hood is up to cover her face, and she’s wearing a scarf and long gloves. With the cool weather, she doesn’t look out of place. Bet it’s harder for her in the summer, though. 

I live, or I guess I use to live, on the east side of the City of London proper, just inside the city limits, west of the Tower and east of Billingsgate Market, just off Lower Thames Street. Da sometimes grumbled about not living further east, but that's Whitechapel, a bad area, and Ma hated it. And it was not too far a walk from home to the deep docks. The small match factory I worked at was near Da's work too. It's not one of the big ones up in Old Ford; there were only about a hundred or so of us working there. Mostly wives, sweethearts and daughters of the dockworkers.

Miss Vastra and I walk; it’s not far, about twenty minutes. Miss Vastra takes great interest in watching the changing streets. I look for the great London Dragons on the Coal Exchange, a familiar sight. I’ve visited Cheapside many times, though its shops are too dear for me, but as we get closer to my flat, the area becomes more familiar to me… and less familiar to Miss Vastra.

"The Apes here are very rough,” She says, eyeing a couple of costermongers selling thread and needles, “They remind me of their wild ancestors who roamed the forests of my childhood. I miss hunting. What I could accomplish around here in a weekend..."

“If you’d come here a week ago with your sword and that thought, you could have killed me.”

Miss Vastra is quiet for a few moments, as we cross the street. Eventually she says, “I don’t hunt hatchlings.”

“Children, ma’am. Humans have children, not hatchlings. And while I can’t argue with you killing someone who’s trying to kill you or me, hunting and murdering mothers and fathers for fun, and leaving children without their parents… that’s a terrible bad thing. Don’t do that. They’ll kill you for that, sure as day.”

I glance up at her. “Your an adult. You should know better.”

She shrugs, and we keep walking along. 

It’s clouding up a bit, there’ll be rain later.

***

My family's flat is on the upper floor of a dirty, cracking two-storey building on Beer Lane, just north of Lower Thames Street. Miss Vastra insists on scouting the building first, examining the surrounding streets, and asking me questions about other exits and the local alleys. It’s sort of fun to see how she thinks, but it’s just my flat, not the Tower of London. She’ll want a map of the building soon. 

Finally she says we’re ready to go in.

“Does your key will still work?”

“No lock on the door,” I reply, “Just a latch. Nothing really to steal. You'll see. And we watch out for each other.”

I work the latch, sticky as always. It's everything I can do not to call out a greeting as I slip through the door, Miss Vastra close behind me. There's nobody alive to greet me this time.

Nobody I want to see, anyway.

It’s been two months since I’ve been home. I just stand and stare at the room. Da's torn it apart in his fits of temper. I've never seen it this bad.

"Lord, look at the mess!. Ma would give him holy hell for this!" 

He's been throwing things, I can see the dents in the walls; and holes where's he's punched the lathe and plaster. That's got to hurt, those walls are strong.

I start picking through the mess, looking for what's mine. It takes some time, but I find clothes, and my copybook from school. It's torn in two; Miss Vastra tells me to bring it anyway. 

In a bit of good luck, I find Ma's sewing tin. Somehow Da hasn't touched it, and when I empty it out, there's a little bag of coins that Ma had kept from some sewing and washing she took in. Da was a damn fool; if he'd asked, I could have told him where the money was, and he'd not have sold me to the damn Scorpions. 

Course, then he's have spent it on Gin, sold me a week later than what he did, and I'd not have some food money now.

I spot my slate under the bed, and my battered tin mug nearby. Looks like Da threw it at the walls a lot. As I grab it, Vastra turns to the door.

"Someone's in the hall," she whispers. 

"Hey! Who's in there!" calls a boy's voice. Vastra's reaching for her sword, and I need to move quick.

"Tom?" I call back quietly, as I put a hand on Vastra's arm. She glances down at me then moves to the wall behind the door, but takes her hand off her sword.

"Jenny, that you?" Tom's head, with that black mop of hair of his, pokes in through the door. “Are you mad? What in hell are you doing here?”

“Language, Tom! Your Da will whip you if he catches you swearing like that.” It’s a running joke between us, we’d both swear like the dock workers, and Tom’s Da and my Ma were always cross as hornets when we did it. “I came to get my clothes.”

Tom shakes his head, “Yer daft! If yer Pa catches you, he’ll beat you, then give you to the Scorpions. And they’ll do worse! Rumour says the last Scorpions who found you were killed by a demon with a sword! Even if it was just a man and they only took a beating, they want you bad, to prove it’s not true.” 

"We're safe enough, Da's working..."

"Bloody Hell Jenny, your Pa's not been working fer the last few weeks! He got tossed out fer being drunk on the job, and taking a swing at the foreman when they docked his pay fer it. He's in and out of this place all the time.”

"Worse, those damn foreigners are showing up here from time to time, looking fer him and fer you. The Irish lads are not happy ‘bout it, they’ll start a war soon."

Behind the door, Miss Vastra perked up. "A war?" Tom swung towards her, startled, then did stepped back with a gasp on seeing her wrapped in her cloak, with her face covered.

"Tom means a fight between the Irish gangs and the Black Scorpions. Bloody and deadly, but the police won't do much, 'less it gets out of hand."

"Your police forces sound extremely inept.” 

Tom blinked, “Wha..?”

“I think she means they’re lazy.” I said, as I spotted something in a corner of the floor, half covered by trash, and go to fetch it. It’s the little staff I made for Johnny. It’s just a stick, about a yard long and a bit over an inch thick. I used a knife to peel off the bark in rings and slanted stripes, and carved John’s initial on it for him. 

He’d loved the damn thing. They wouldn’t let us bury it with him. Said it was an insult to God. Dumb bastards. But it’s still here, and Da hasn’t broken it, and it’s coming with me. 

“Yer crazy,” says Tom, “and you’ve got to get out of here.”

“And you are?” asks Vastra, looking very big and very frightening. Tom looks back at her, and his mouth just sort of hangs there again.

“This is my friend Tom. He lives next door. Our families always played together. Tom was Robin Hood!”

“Ah. Nice to meet you, Robin… I mean, Tom.”

I quickly introduce Tom to Vastra, telling him that she helped me, but he’s so surprised, I’m not sure if he heard much of what I said. 

“Look,” Tom finally says, “You can’t stay here. It’s not safe. At least keep a better watch out, I was right outside the door before you heard me.”

“Can you watch the front stairs? Da almost always uses those.”

“Sure, but the moment I call to you, he’ll know you’re here.”

“Is your Da home?”

“No, Pa’s out for a few more hours yet.”

“Then just call for your Da. Mine might hear you, but he won’t think it’s strange. And if I I hear you, we’ll get out of here right quick. And take the back stairs.”

Tom starts to leave, but stops. “Hang on a moment.” He gropes around in his pocket, and pulls something out and presses it into my hand. “Yer Pa gave this to me when Johnny died.”

I open my hand, and saw a little pocket knife that Ma and Da had given John for Christmas the year before he died. It’s a tiny thing. Da got it cheap ‘cause one blade was broken in half. Tom’s Da ground it down to a blunt point as a favour to make it a better blade. “I said you should have it,” Tom goes on. “He wouldn’t give it to you.”

“He didn’t think girls should have pocket knives. Just kitchen knives.”

Tom snorted. “It would be a damn sight quieter around here if the girls had more pocket knives OR kitchen knives. The boys would leave ‘em alone!” 

“You just want your Da to sell more knives.”

“Damn right!” Tom said with a grin. “I’ll go keep an eye out.”

I could see that Miss Vastra was a bit confused at our joking around.

“His Da’s a cutler.” At her curious look, I explain, “You know, a person who makes knives and blades and stuff. Ma always said he’s a good cutler but a poor business man. He had a shop but sold it to a merchant who paid him only part of what he promised him. Now he barely makes enough to pay the rent and keep the boys fed and clothed.” 

I start to make a bundle of my things, and add in some of Ma’s clothing; an extra shawl and a scarf. She doesn’t need it anymore. Surprised that Da didn’t sell all this stuff to a rag-picker for gin money. I look around for Ma’s old silver locket, just in case, but I haven’t seen it in years. I search for a few minutes, and I’m almost done when I hear Tom calling for his Pa.

“My Da’s here! Quick, come with me out the back. Tom will probably try to hold him up out front.”

“Don’t run when we get outside,” says Miss Vastra. “If there is anyone out there, they’ll notice you. Just walk at a steady pace.” 

We get down the stairs without trouble, and dodge against the wall by the stairs while I check the yard.

A moment later there’s footsteps and the clank of a bucket behind us. Tom shuffles out the door, grumbling and carrying a pair of water buckets. He looks around quickly and spots us in the shadows.

“Yer Pa’s out front, with a bunch of Scorpions. None of them are happy, I think the Scorpions are mad at yer Pa, and yer Pa’s angry at them. Lots of temper out there.

“Wonderful. Doubt we can stay back here either.”

“I don’t think they know yer here. Sounds like they’re just being pests, throwing their weight around. But they seem to be poking their noses into everywhere. Hope they don’t start a riot.” 

“We’d best be off, then.” Says Miss Vastra. “Thank you for your help Ro…Tom.”.

“Yer most welcome, Ma’am. Thank you fer helping Jenny. She’s a good one.”

He turns back to me and sighs. "Wish you were a boy, Jenny. Pa would apprentice so fast yer head would spin."

"Tom, your family's always a day's pay from being thrown out on the street yourselves. You can't afford another mouth to feed, and there's no room for me besides. We talked about that. Your family’s too close to mine, the Scorpions would hurt you too if they thought you were hiding me!"

Tom looked back, checking the yard behind us, then grabbed my hands. Behind him, Miss Vastra hissed, and I shook my head quick to warn her off. Tom’s often like this.

"Don't come back here,” he said. “Not if you can help it. This place will kill you young. Girls... don't do well here. Yer clever. Don't want to see you working in the match factory, with a baby at sixteen, and dead before yer twenty-two. You could have a good life! You could be a lady's maid in a big house some day! Maybe even marry a doctor or a lawyer or a detective!” He drew a breath, “You know what this place is like, Jenny. Get out. Stay out." 

Tom glances at the doorway. “I’ve got to go. If yer Pa looks out and sees me talking to you, the jig will be up right quick.” He leans in and gives me a quick kiss on the cheek. “Be safe. Please!”

And with that he’s away, back into the building. And I’m standing in an alley way with an idiot look of surprise on my face.

“If I could interrupt the courting displays of young monkeys for a moment….” Miss Vastra starts.

“We’re not courting, he’s almost my brother!” I growl at her. She says nothing more, but her smirk says it all.

Going on about that at a time like this! Adults! No sense at all, sometimes!

Mind back on task here, Jenny my girl. We need to get away from here quick. I lead Miss Vastra down the alley towards the street. Just before the corner, we stop, and I drop to my knee, and peek around the corner carefully. People don’t look much above or below their eye level, and us youngsters often could watch without being seen if we kept low.

I don’t like what I see. 

“Damn, there’s Scorpions both ways. And Da’s in front of the building!” I looked away from him, didn’t want him to see my face and come after us. Miss Vastra looked over my head at him.

“Which one is your father?”

“The one who’s not Chinese.” Is she daft?

She glances down at me. Huh. Wonder if she can’t tell them apart. That must be strange.

“The big one, ma’am! That’s Da.”

She looks back at him, down at me again, and back to him. “The Gorilla?” She asks, surprised. “You’re so small, I assumed that your father was a little wisp of a human.”

“No, ma’am. He’s a right terror on the docks. Taught me to defend myself as well.” Oh Da, you loved me as much as I loved you! Why’d you turn on me like you did, and sell me like something that fell off a wagon? 

“They may be looking for you, but they are not looking for me,” says Miss Vastra. “We’ll take a lesson from bold Robin Hood. Give me the stick, and put your shawl on.” She takes John’s staff while I pull out the shawl and cover my head with it. She continues, “Listen carefully. I’m an elderly Ape, and you’re helping me with my errands. We’re going to walk right past them. Give me your left arm.” I take my bundle in my right hand and offer the other to her. She gently grasps it, though she makes it look as if she’s leaning on me for support, as if she really was a frail old woman. “Keep your head down, and your eyes on the ground, as if watching for things that might trip me. I will speak if it is necessary; you will not say a word, in case your father recognizes your voice. Walk very slowly, as if I’m lame. If I drop your arm, I’m going to draw my sword. Step back behind me if that happens.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Jenny, you need to be very brave. Do not hurry, or look at their faces, or speak. I’m right here, and I will protect you. They will not harm you as long as you do as I ask.” She takes a breath. “Ready?”

I take a deep breath as well, and nod.

“Right. Come along, Jenny!”

And we’re off.

We leave the shelter of the alley, step onto the broken cobblestones of the street, and turn towards Cheapside. We need to go right past the entrance. And Da. 

Miss Vastra moves slowly, taking small unsteady looking steps. Me, I just keep my head down, and try not to panic. This is hard. I can hear the Scorpions chattering to each other in Chinese, and a lower murmur, like angry hornets, in the tones of the English and Irish costermongers who live nearby, and are watching. I almost need to giggle: those men usually fight like cats and dogs, but toss some real foreigners into the mix, and they’re suddenly the best of pals. I swallow instead, there’s nothing funny here. If they start brawling, there’ll be blood in the street. I’ve seen it happen before.

We’re suddenly right in the middle of the group. Miss Vastra keeps to her slow pace. There’s a moment when we need to stop. One of the scorpions isn’t moving and there’s no room to go around. 

I remind myself to breathe. Don’t panic. Don’t run. Be Brave.

“Excuse me, please,” says Miss Vastra. Her voice quavers like an old granny’s. The Scorpion snarls something at her in his language.

Suddenly there’s a bellow right behind us. “You there!” 

Gawd, that’s Da’s! Stay still!

“Damn you, get out of their way, you fools!” The Scorpions grumble, but move back.

“Sorry, Gran-ma. They’re rude blighters oft-times.” Da again. Sounding more like himself for a change. Still, if he’s with them, it’s not safe for me.

“Ye should keep better company, young man. But thank ye fer yer help.” That’s Miss Vastra, and now she does sound like one of the old souls ‘round here. Lived long enough that they don’t suffer fools lightly. 

We move off again, painfully slow, and in time the voices of the Chinese and the English and the Irish blend together and fade. New voices replace them, and soon Miss Vastra straightens, steps to the side of the road, and looks back.

“I see no signs of pursuit. I believe our ruse has worked. Very well done, Jenny. That must have been very frightening for you.” 

“That was scary. But a lot of fun too. I can’t believe you had us just walk right past them!” I’m babbling but I can’t seem to stop. Miss Vastra lets me bounce around for a minute, letting go of my worry, then calls me to order.

“Time to go.” We continue at a normal pace back to her room. As we walk, she continues, “I’m sorry, but I don’t think it would be wise for you to return to that area of the city. Between your father, the scorpions and the locals, it’s a rather explosive mix.”

"But that’s my home. My friends are there."

“I understand. However, if you return, and any of those groups gets ahold of you, the area will explode. Something else is going on, there was a great deal of anger in that street.” 

“Blazes. That means I can’t even go to a workhouse. Has to be in my own parish, that’s why I avoided it before. Too easy to find me.”

“Why would you go anywhere? We have not yet resolved your problem with the Scorpions, therefore you are still staying with me. How else can I protect you?”

I stop and look at her, surprised.

“Your friend would not forgive me if I allowed you to come to harm. He knows you’re safe for now, he came out of the building just as we passed. So he saw us leave.” 

“Well, that’s good. I know he wants to help me.”

"That hatchling... doesn't understand yet exactly what he wants. But he does want you to be safe."

"There's no such thing as 'safe' though, is there ma'am?"

"Well, perhaps not. But there are those who strive to protect others. To help others be safer than they would be without them."

"Like the soldiers and the police?"

"Yes, sometimes. And sometimes, there are other heroes. Like my friend the Doctor. Like your friend Robin Hood," she says with a little smile.

She must mean the real Robin. She can't mean Tom. Tom's like me.

We're not heroes. 

And then I remember Tom keeping watch, and warning us that my Da was near. Making sure we got out safe. Not giving us away when we walked past him in disguise. 

Guess he is a hero.

And I remember the feeling of a blade in my hand, and an exacting voice guiding me through lessons and a raid, past scorpions and danger, and towards a new path.

I'm not a hero. Not yet.

But maybe someday.

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's notes:
> 
> Vastra’s sword in this story is a Royal Navy Cutlass. It’s probably best if we don’t enquire too closely about how she ‘found’ it. Jenny’s ‘Scorpion’ knife is based on a Confederate ‘Bowie knife’ from South Carolina. I’ve posted pictures of both on my Tumblr site. The Japanese blades from “A Good Man Goes to War” will show up later in the series, but Vastra can’t afford hers yet and Jenny’s sword … well, that’s a story for another day.
> 
> Vastra's books are 'Agnes Grey' (1847), by Anne Bronte (the youngest Bronte sister), 'Paul Clifford' (1830) by Edward Bulwer-Lytton, and 'The Moonstone' (1868) by Wilkie Collins, which is often credited as one of the first detective novels. All are in the public domain, and are available on-line in various formats (they also have summaries on Wikipedia.) 
> 
> Most people have heard of Robin Hood, Little John, and Friar Tuck. Will Scarlet is recognized as the best swordsman of the Merry Men, and he appears in the oldest legends. 
> 
> Next up, ‘The Adventures of the Masked Lady.’ Based on notes in the ‘Brilliant Book 2012’: Vastra and Jenny didn’t always solve crimes: on occasion they committed them….


End file.
